


On the Farm

by Ahigheroctave



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, Facebook, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-21
Updated: 2010-04-21
Packaged: 2017-11-17 13:49:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ahigheroctave/pseuds/Ahigheroctave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike has a closet addiction he just can't kick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Farm

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this in response to a Domestic Spuffy poll, takes place somewhere in the cookie-baked future.

“Spike, let’s go we’re going to be late,” She’s still in the bathroom, busy applying gunk to her eyes. As if she needs it, she looks perfect having just rolled out of bed. Or so he thinks.  
  
“Just a second, love,” He tries to click his mouse quickly. Damn it all, why’d he have to run out of fuel? He can’t risk more, if Buffy were to see it on the credit card statement she’d know what he was up to. She was still suspicious after he bought that chicken last month. He’d only gotten out of that one by asking why she was using the Giles emergency card on those bloody high-heeled boots.  
  
Actually, he quite liked those boots. Especially when she kept them on in bed… Wait, he was supposed to be doing something. Plowing his field before Buffy got on her party face!  
  
 _Click, click, click, click, click-_  
  
“You aren’t downloading porn again, are you?” A voice directly behind him asks, causing him to jump to close the computer. “You know even Will had trouble getting that virus out after last time.” She catches it, damn Slayer reflexes.  
  
He tries blocking it, “You were in bloody China for two months, how else was I supposed to entertain myself?”  
  
She cranes her head around his and puts a hand to her mouth. She erupts in giggles. “Oh my god, that’s what the chicken was…” She snorts and he can feel his masculinity crawling away.  
  
“No, I needed blood…and I offed it. Yeah, that’s what it was for, love. Blood!” She doesn’t seem to buy this though, as she’s practically rolling around on the floor in that little red number.  
  
He sits down on their bed, lays his head in his hands and waits for her to finish. He ends up reading the Cosmopolitan on her beside table it takes so long. Once he finishes the article on Brazilian waxing and it’s painfulness he can’t quite loathe her the same way. Hell if he’s going to wax the hair off his naughty bits.  
  
She rests her head on his shoulder as he flips through Heidi Klum’s interview. “So, have you completed your Horse Stable?” He ignores this, and reads the prattling about this women’s supposedly perfect husband. He’s quite scarred to deserve someone so good looking, and what kind of pansy name is Seal? “What about your Nursery Barn? Did you collect enough pretty blankets to make your farm all shiny and nice?”  
  
“No, not yet. I’ve got three more to go.” He puts down the magazine. “And if you’re really interested, I don’t even like playing.”  
  
“Oh really, so all the virtual plantage is for what? The good of the earth?” He gives her a look and starts to head out the door. “What’s with the grumpy?”  
  
He turns around and considers this before sighing and admitting, “Angel’s three levels ahead of me.” She loses it and topples over on the carpet. “I’m serious, woman! He’s buying his way off and I have to work my way to the top.” She stops for a moment, to catch her breath. “And I can’t even get ten people to help me expand my Chicken Coop!”  
  
She pushes herself up and smoothes out her dress, “Forget the party, I have to go call Willow.” He shakes his head, sitting down at the computer desk. He stares at the laptop in front of him for a moment before logging in. If she’s going to make fun of him anyways he can at least finish planting those tomatoes.


End file.
